If you ask me to name some artists that I love, I tend to stumble and fall after naming Bansky and Lord Rolf Harris, although I do like to spend a lot of time mooching around galleries oohing and aahing loudly with my thumb and forefinger pertinently cushioning my chin. I like the type of contemporary art that most people scoff at for being pretentious and stupid – like Tracey Emin’s My Bed.
My favourite art installation I’ve seen was in Southampton Art Gallery and it was a room full of white balloons, from floor to ceiling. I could come out with junk about its presence and deep meaning but I was about 12 when I saw it and was too busy being all “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BALLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONS” while running through it and taking static-affected hair to a whole new Don King level.
My favourite artist is a chap called Jack Vettriano and I like him because he is a bit naughty. Actually, no. He’s nawty. Hang on – no. He’s nAwTy. He mainly paints the most wonderfully provocative BDSM-y themed pieces and I feel dirty just looking at them.
I particularly love this: